Author: takingbarcelonaPairing: Occasional Bolivia
Rating: T, one M
Disclaimer: I do not own the songs, I do not own any part of Fringe, and I am making no profit. Only the ideas are mine.
A/N: Behold, the rules of Shuffle Challenges: Put your iPod, mp3, or any other musical library on random or shuffle. Choose a fandom. Write ten drabbles for the first ten songs you encounter. No pausing, no replaying, and you have only the duration of the song to finish each drabble.
A/N2: This is my first time posting on , and I'm a little sticky on the uploading. I didn't really like the appearance of the first one, so I made a few changes.
A/N3: That said, I did a rough edit to make sure I didn't butcher them. I apologize for the messy tense. Concrit is love.
Despertar, Aisha Duo :
Olivia stopped dead upon entering the lab.
Three steps ago, she had been halfway through the argument that she and Peter had yet to have. And in her head, she was winning. She had slept fitfully the night before, and she was certain that she had had nothing to do with the lights blinking out. Olivia was going to use her sleepless night and resounding logic to make him side with her.
All of the progress she had been making, however, came to huge, creaking, crunching, screeching halt as she flung the door open and found Peter sifting a tune out of the piano for a napping Walter and a yawning Astrid.
He looked up, smiled at her, and all of Olivia's arguments died on her lips.
Happy, Sita:
Peter looked at Walter. And looked. And looked, and looked. No matter how far he searched into Walter's face, into Walter's background, Walter's history, nowhere could he find the reason his mother had stayed long enough to create the few meager memories Peter did have.
Then, with an astounding coincidence that Peter wasn't entirely sure was coincidence, Walter turned to Peter and said, "Son, do you remember…that Christmas? You might've been five, maybe four. We still had that dog that you loved so greatly…" Walter puttered himself out, and Peter prodded him, for once wanting him to continue.
"And...? What about that Christmas?"
"Oh! Nothing important. I just wondered if you remembered how beautiful your mother was that night."
Smash the mirror, Jillian Sheilds:
"Hey, Liv-o."
John Scott's image grinned shyly at her from the wrong side of the mirror. For once, he wasn't behind her, but rather inside the glass. She turned back, and his image was gone. Olivia wheeled around again, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.
He was reclining against the frame of the door, watching her carefully. Olivia grabbed the bottle of vodka she had intended to take to bed with her, and threw it with all her strength at the doorframe, her eyes closed.
When she opened them after a moment, the ruined bottle at her feet and the smell of the drink heavy in the air, John was nowhere in sight. There were shards of glass stuck into the door panel.
She leaned her hips back against the counter for support and tried to steady out her breathing. Slowly, she turned back around to the sink and put her hands on the facet. When she raised her eyes to the mirror, she started to shake.
"What on earth was that all for?"
Then she screamed.
Wig In a Box, Hedwig and the Angry Inch:
Astrid sometimes had mornings like this. Mornings where, between her herbal tea, facial moisturizer, and putting her keys in her purse she wondered what the hell she was doing.
Then, she'd remember the laughs that they'd share at the lab, the crazy wonder she felt when they'd uncovered an absolutely insane lead, and the glow she felt when they, as a team, had solved another wild case.
And it was in those moments, on those mornings, that she realized not what she was doing, but who she was doing this for.
If Only You Knew, Maroon 5:
She's blind.
No, she isn't.
She's got to be!
Well, what can you say in his defense?
…
EXACTLY.
Maybe he's being a gentleman?
Really? That's the best you can come up with?
Oh, stop it. YOU think the girl is blind. It's obvious she isn't or they wouldn't of given her a license.
Big City Lennie Gallant:
When Olivia came home, Ella and Rachel had slipped asleep on the couch, a brightly coloured pull-out book spread out over them. Olivia looked at them for a moment, remembering the afternoon that Rachel ran away. The fear that locked onto Olivia until Rachel had come home, grubby and a little worse for wear, and unbelievably hungry.
Rachel's eight year old eyes lit up as she told the brave and heroic stories of how she crossed five streets, all by herself, until someone asked where her mommy was. It was then that Rachel turned tail and came home, but not before spending two adventurous hours at the park, lit only by streetlights.
Olivia, who was twelve at the time, had yelled at Rachel and stormed up to bed. Later that night, Rachel had wormed her way into her sister's bedroom, and then her bed, and hugged Olivia as she cried. Olivia remembered the hot tears on her cheeks, and Rachel said over and over she was sorry. Olivia returned the hug just as tightly, and told her through her tears to never do it again. Rachel nodded, and sometime later, they were both asleep.
Out of her memories, Olivia carefully scooped Ella up and took her to her room. When she came back, she threw a blanket over she sister, kissed her forehead, and mumbled, "Thank you for coming back."
Another White Dash, Butterfly Boucher:
Hey, 'Livia," Peter started as they were driving towards another scene.
"Yeah?"
"Have…Have you ever wanted to drop everything and run?"
Olivia looked up sharply, but Peter's face was stoic as he watched the road in front of him. She knew this went deeper. She gently touched the hand that was resting on the gearshift when they pulled up to a red light.
That got his attention. He noticed her downcast eyes and erratic breath, and said, quickly, as the light turned green, "Sorry. That's none of my busine-"
"Peter."
He glanced away from the road and caught her eyes for a breath of a second.
"More often that I want to."
When Peter fell asleep that night, he dreamed a memory, one of getting onto an airplane to nowhere and watching the blonde head a few rows up from him.
Brand New Colony, Postal Service:
Olivia, Peter, Walter, and Astrid had been driving for four hours. And, if Olivia's bleary eyes weren't lying to her, it was just past two in the morning. She swallowed, licked her lips, and found her voice.
"Peter…?"
Peter, who was driving and gently head-bopping to the tune in his one earphone, glanced down, paused the music and turned a gentle face to her. "Yeah?" He whispered just as quietly.
"How are you still awake?"
He looked at her as she snuggled down deeper into her, and most notably, his coat. Looking back to the highway, and then back to her, he reached out and gently swept the blonde out of her eyes. In the rearview, Walter was mumbling to himself in numbers, and Astrid had been snoring for the better part of three hours.
He grabbed his iPod and turned it in her direction.
"Can you keep a secret?"
Olivia snorted.
"Madonna. She's a wonderful woman."
Leaving For Paris No. 2, Rufus Wainwright
Clothes littered the floor and the armchair. There was one high-heeled shoe sitting atop the TV, and Olivia was pretty certain her blouse was on the kitchen counter. She was wonderfully comfortable, pressed between the back of the couch and Peter's chest, their legs tangled together to the point of unrecognition.
His hand was gently tracing circles down back and side, and she was so close to sleep she could feel it. The scruff against her forehead and the occasional brush of fingernail were the only things keeping her tethered to reality. Olivia had to admit, though; it was a very comfortable reality.
She mumbled against his collarbone, and Peter just grunted something incomprehensible in return. Soothing a hand over her hair, he asked a pointless question, the hand continuing its journey down her back, and joining the other one. Together, they roused her enough to open her eyes.
she mumbled again as she slowly pulled herself up, onto him, kissing down his neck and chest.
A moment passed, and he says something, and she replies, and then there's quiet laugher and the suggestion of the bedroom.
Together they sit up, Olivia groaning happily and arching her back. Peter stretches his arms over his head, then swoops down on her and hauls Olivia to her feet. In the silence, there's a moment, a look, and something else that neither can describe, and then slowly, they make their way farther into the apartment.
Suddenly, through the heady fog inside her mind, she wonders out loud, "Where…where's my other shoe?"
Peter sighs and chuckles at the same time, then grabs her waist and carries her the rest of the way to the bedroom.
Marie and He, Lennie Gallant:
It's one lonely, cold night that she calls him with tears in her voice and determination on her face.
"I can't.."
She sobs.
He's silent, waiting.
"I can't do this alone tonight."
Peter knows the feeling, and he's grabbing his keys before he realizes it.
"Ten minutes, Liv. Hang on."
There's one more sob, a muffled okay, and then she hangs up, praying for one of the few times in her life.
The smell of vodka is still wafting out from her bathroom, and the glass has made little cuts in her feet by the time he gets there. He can barely tell where the glass from the mirror ends and the glass from the bottle begins.
He holds her close, and then he listens to the tears and the worry and after she's run herself out, he lifts her up, carries her to the bedroom, and listens to her breathe for a while before cleaning the bathroom floor and retiring to the living room.